


All you need to do is ask

by SamCreates



Series: Sam's Corner of Unhappy. [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study?, Gen, Hell has a Soul, Hurt No Comfort, Kinley is a dick, Poisoning, The Void is now a Character, i love deckerstar but i need them to suffer sometimes, major character death i guess, no beta we go down like archangels, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28477755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamCreates/pseuds/SamCreates
Summary: He grabs the vial from her purse and she doesn't stop him.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Sam's Corner of Unhappy. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085939
Comments: 40
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year!  
> Lets start it with some hurt and no comfort!
> 
> Should I be working on the other 2 pieces I have left unfinished? Definitely!  
> Do I have muse and motivation? Nope.  
> Will I ever end them! Yes!  
> But not today!

"Show me your purse."  
Panic flares in Chloe's gut, leaving her cold, her hands clammy.

"My purse? Why?" She asks, feigning ignorance and naivety, something inside her screaming loudly, wildly 'he knows! He knows you wanted to betray him, how does he know?', but she just grabs her little bag, slowly raising it to him, as he inquires another time to see it.  
"Okay..."

Lucifer's hand drifts through the purse, purposefully looking for something specific, her panic growing with each heartbeat.  
'He knows.'

He stops, petrified for a moment, before he lifts his one hand, holding the traitorous little vial in it, the other one handing the purse back to her somewhat roughly.

"Detective, what's this?", he asks, a cold gleam in his eyes. 'How? He knows. How does he know?'  
Kinley's lies echo in her head again. Maybe he stalks her? Spies on her? Was it Maze? Who told him, when learned he of it?

"It's nothing, really", Chloe starts, and he is right there to interrupt any following explanation.  
"Oh well if it's nothing, you won't mind me drinking it, right?"

He uncaps the vial and lifts it to his lips and she knows she should stop him, but all of Kinley's words pulse loud in her head, 'How the Hell did he know of the vial? Has he played me all along? Father Kinley was right, wasn't he? This is really just a game to him, isn't it?' and so she stays silent.

She nearly misses it, when that last little flicker of hope bleeds from his heated gaze and he empties the vial in one sip, his face scrunching up upon the taste.  
"This is what you wanted to do, isn't it?", he hisses at her, the brown of his eyes slowly burning away and leaving the glowing embers behind she is afraid of every night.  
"This is what made you break that glass."

A dark, fine web of veins creeps up his neck and Chloe stares at it, horrified. His gaze grows unfocused, a bitter scoff, nearly a chuckle leaving his lips.

"The things I do for you, because of you", he rasps when he falls down onto his knees before her.

___

It doesn't take long. Whatever this is, whatever poison Kinley gave to the Detective to let him drink, it is strong and it works fast.  
The instance he swallows, Lucifer feels it sliding down his throat, burning like acid, like the liquid fire he drowned in over and over and over again when he Fell and landed in Hell.  
But this time, the drowning is bittersweet. The last time it happened, his eyes had been burned out, nothing but darkness and pain surrounding him.  
But now he stares at Chloe while going down, the pain excruciating, the suffocating tight grip of betrayal around his heart squeezing painfully. But at least the sight he would trade for nothing else.

Her sky blue eyes wide in shock, she just stands there... And does nothing.  
Betrayal squeezes tighter, breathing just hurts. 'She wants this. She wants me to end. She had wanted it on our date' - and he would laugh at the word if he had any breath for it left.  
He feels his muscles seizing up, his heart galloping wildly, stopping, stumbling, increasing pace, again and again, hot, sticky tears running down his cheeks, the pressure in his head making him believe it might not be tears, but blood, but no muscle cooperating enough to raise a hand to check.  
None of it hurts as much as watching her just watch him. 'She wants this.'

And then it just stops. The pain evaporates, leaves nothing behind but a numb tingling sensation, a strange pulsing while his divinity burns the poison out of his system, cleanses him and leaves him weak from the effort.

He slumps, sits on his haunches, still on his knees, his head bowed, his gaze averted.  
She takes a few steps back, a hand before her lips, swallowing a shocked sob.  
"What... Have you... Are you... Lucifer?" She is falling to her knees as well, just a few steps away from him, staring first at his slumped form, then at the vial still in his hand, now nothing more but little shards, broken from his tight grip. And there is no blood like the last time. He bled when he cut himself on the wineglass. He bled when she pressed the axe to his chest. He bled when he was shot through the hand, in the gut, in his leg.  
But now there is no blood among the shards.

There is only the empty feeling where his heart used to be, used to beat. An empty, yawning chasm pulsing ice through his veins.

"You know", he rasps, his throat somewhat sore even though his divinity healed most of him. She shivers violently, hearing his voice so calm like a summer night, neither hot nor cold. She flinches, jerking her head up and looking at him, terrified.  
His eyes, his face show nothing, no discernible emotion. His eyes, usually so expressive, are a void she loses herself in.  
"If you want to get rid of me so bad", his voice is now steady as he slowly gets up, wiping dirt away from his trousers, the tears/blood from his face, "all you had to do is ask."

She doesn't answer, doesn't acknowledge his words at all beyond her scares expression.

The Devil's gaze wanders, the cold in it driving away curious passers-by in an instance, the few people scurrying away as if driven away by some unstoppable force.

"Nevermind answering. I think, this time, I finally got the message", he scoffs, unfurling his ragged and ruined wings, no more white but dusty grey slattered with blood, bald patches and skin still aggravated from where they were shot a month ago, some of the withering feathers drifting to the ground and evaporating into ashes.

"I am sorry, please..." Chloe Decker whispers to the emptiness left behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le gasp. Did I manage to finish a second chapter? Yes!  
> Did it totally get away from me, develop a life of its own, ran away from me and did whatever the Hell it wanted without my consent? Damn straight it did.
> 
> Unashamedly un-beta'ed, and english is not my native language. Am I too cranky asking someone to beta read? Yep.

He doesn't see where he is flying - he doesn't need to. He was a massive part of creating this world and his memory is unfailable. Once seen, his mind remembers everything. Lucifer finds himself on his balcony some hours later, having flown mindlessly all over earth in an attempt to shake this feeling of emptiness off himself. Now back in an area with working reception, the phone in the pocket of his suit is vibrating in an almost endless tune.   
He takes it out, stares on the screen mostly sightlessly. He registers the endless parade of messages, several names which should be feeling good to read, but don't manage to fill the void in him. The phone gets tossed carelessly onto the coffee table.

There is still a strange tingling all over Lucifer's body, he remembers is faintly as his divinity slowly replenishing itself after absolute exhaustion from healing himself. Were he in a better place, mentally, he could have wondered how such a strong poison found it's way into the hands of some mortals, into *her* hands.  
But he isn't in a better place, he doesn't care, not anymore.

The void grows, hooks it's claws into his guts and pulls, rips him open, fills him with more nothing.

He should have expected it, really. Wasn't this his eternal story? He made an effort and was discarded.  
It was like this in the beginning, when he tried to do everything for his siblings and they just were jealous of him and his powers and shunned him.  
It was like this during the Rebellion when he fought - so so hard - for his Freedom, for his siblings not to be slaves any longer and in turn he was thrown away, locked behind the gates of Hell, chained for first few millennia until he had the strength again to free himself.  
He had tried to be a good son again, after he had screamed himself hoarse again and again and again, pleading to be allowed back home, to do as He asked and all ut earned him was more pain, more fighting, more of Amenadiel pushing him down time after time again.

It had been like this with every human he ever had trusted enough to truly reveal himself to. They all had dropped him, pushed him away. And if not even his therapist, a woman trained in dealing with trauma, with drama, with sicknesses of the mind, could deal with it, how could he expect the gleaming, pure soul of a miracle to do it?  
Truly, he should have seen it coming.

Lucifer marches over to his walk-in closet and shrugs off his suit, every article of clothing drops to the floor carelessly, discarded, disregarded.  
He shoves Burberry and Prada aside, digs deep into his closet, pulls away a false panel and steps into the tight, hidden space behind. 

There is no hurry in his steps, no anger. Just fluid motions delivered with a cool acceptance. It seems, more and more, that Amenadiel and Gabriel and Michael, that all those humans determined to expel the Devil... They might have been right.  
Lucifer's place is not among the Angels and also not among the humans. No matter where he walks, he is an outsider, always has been. But at least among the demons, he had been respected.

He eyes his little secret, the armour he arrived in on earth the last time. Just like his wings at first, Lucifer had not been able to simply get rid of it. Unlike his wings though, which had burned very nicely, the black gambeson could not easily be destroyed. Which was kind of the point of armour.  
His fingers trace the old, scratched patterns, the story of the Fallen Archangel rising the ranks in Hell and making it onto the throne, engraved into the metal.

The phone on the coffee table continues vibration, but it is simple to ignore it over the sound of rustling leather and metal as the Devil puts on his royal attire, the King of Hell back in all his battle-hardened glory.

Maze is right, too. Earth has made him soft. But she is wrong in calling him weak in the same breath. He has lived through the rise and fall of nations, species, entire planets, solar systems came to life by his hands and died before his eyes and it all was nothing more than a fleeting moment in his existence.  
Heaven didn't break him, the Rebellion didn't break him, Hell didn't break him...  
Earth will not break him, either. A little, insignificant mortal will not shred his soul to pieces.

The chasm yawns, the void expanding - and he is grateful for the silence.

He registers the sound of the elevator, registers voices that should mean something but simply don't. He hears steps coming closer, words meant for him, but he does not acknowledge them.  
There is Linda, he thinks, and Miss Lopez and the Douche. And one other set of heartbeats, staying behind, close to the elevator and he can imagine her being there.

All in all, he wants to thank her for opening his eyes to reality again. For crushing these useless, rose-tinted glasses under the heels of her boots. For taking away the human emotions which had crept into him during his vacation, for turning him back into who he was before Los Angeles decided to call him.

Lucifer fastens the last of the straps on his heavy armour, grabs his sword and returns it to its rightful place, strapped to his back, fitting perfectly in the space between his wings.  
'Yes', he thinks to himself, and the voice sounds an awful lot like Samael again, just before the Rebellion, decisive, unrelenting, determined to get whatever he truly wants or die fighting for it, 'this feels just right'.

He steps out of his closet, shattered wings still in full view, scattering rotting feathers everywhere (not that it matters anymore, they will serve one last purpose and won't be needed anymore after his return to Hell, he is no Angel, the Devil does not need wings) and marches out into his living room.

Chloe shrieks, Linda gasps, the Douche rolls his eyes and Miss Lopez, "Dude seriously. If you are gonna dump us for your movie, the least you can do is tell us! But gotta admit, thats one Hell of a nice costume. Looks almost real! But the wings really need some work. Or - oh! - it's supposed to look like that? Because, yeah, the Devil is Fallen, right?" She looks delighted.

He doesn't acknowledge either of them, just passes them on his way to his rarely in use desk, rummaging through one of the drawers for a specific book.

"Are you for real man?", Daniel complains. "We could have used you on that scene, you know?"  
The Devil stills. Right. "'Used me', you say? Hrm, yes. That is right, that is what you all do, don't you?"  
The cold, detached voice he uses is enough to keep the humans silent.  
Grabbing the book he was looking for, he signs a few lines, making arrangements. Losing all his property would be a waste of resources, and that just won't do.  
But luckily, the Devil isn't the only Fallen and some of them actually live on earth now.  
He trusts Azazel enough to use his riches wisely.

"Well, that was certainly a very interesting vacation." He drops the accent, which had been nice for the time he had used it, but it won't be necessary any longer. Just another little way humanity had slithered into his heart. And that just wouldn't do anymore.  
Daniel looks as if he wants to say something, but the strange, weird energy around Lucifer keeps him quiet.

"But I am done here. Amenadiel and Mazikeen were right. Father Kinley was right. I don't belong here."  
He stares at Chloe, unblinking, challenging her directly - and she averts her gaze.

Linda opens her mouth, but he just raises his hand, "I really do not wish to hear it, Doctor. Save your words for those who need them, not for the one 'patient' you probably just keep out of your own curiosity."  
Satan straightens and stretches his wings and finally, it dawns on Ella and Dan that maybe, just maybe, this isn't just some weird costume, that the wings on his back are real, are alive (and balding, slowly dying, rotting).

Dan's hand goes to his service weapon immediately, and before anyone can stop him, he shoots.  
Linda screams, thinking Lucifer to be still vulnerable around Chloe, while Chloe jumps into action and rips the gun out of Dan's hand.

Satan stands, unmoved, unhurt. The bullet falls from his gambeson, bent and deformed, into his waiting hand.  
"If that was all, I'll take my leave now."  
And without another glance at the shocked, near paralyzed humans in his former home, the Devil makes his way over to his balcony.  
He stops, one last time, wings spread and ready to take off.  
"Don't bother sending Amenadiel. I will close the gates. I've had enough of earth for several lifetimes", he throws over his shoulder.   
There, in the void, is a tiny shimmer of regret at losing a friend - poor Miss Lopez has really nothing to do with anything, but, alas she flinches away from him as well.

He takes in the Californian sun one last time, revelling in the warm feeling on his skin, " I will miss you, my sweetest daughter", he whispers, before he takes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be very different from how I first planned it. And now I have room for a third chapter. Anyone interested? Leave a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell missed her King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. So... I never intended this story to have more than one chapter. And I have honestly no Idea what I am doing.
> 
> I also apologize to all Maze-Fans.
> 
> Un-beta'ed, comments are appreciated. <3

He floats.  
For the first few centuries, he doesn't do much else. He floats over his kingdom of ash and fire and blood and bone and despair, less thanks to his rotten wings (by now almost completely naked, save for his longest primaries, which dangle there like a coat of swords, deadly sharp, never soft anymore, and a few leftover patches of smaller feathers. None of them are white anymore. They darkened, look burned, the edges sometimes glimmering like embers).

No, he more or less just levitates, by whatever magic Hell uses around him, he lazes through the sky, staring up into the neverending rain of ash, mourning the sun and the stars.  
But that's about it. Sometimes, there is a spark of anger at having surrendered to the whims of some mortals, of having run back to Hell. But Hell's hot air surrounds him like a blanket, like a long lost friend, like a lover, a mate, a partner, gliding over the wounds not covered by the void. Soothing.  
She had missed her King. She had missed him so terribly much.

Before his vacation, her constant drift around him had been slightly annoying. Lucifer had pushed her away more often than not, but she hadn't taken offence in it. He is, after all, still an Angel, while she is the soul of a realm. And he values his Freedom more than anything else.

Now, though, he is grateful for her presence. She fills the silence in his head, the void in his chest, makes him feel like he wasn't alone. She was no sunshine that warms his now ever cold skin, no physical being to hold him when he craves touch.  
But she is there, reminding him that while she lacks touch and warmth, she will never abandon him.

Once upon a time, he had thought the same about Mazikeen. But Chloe's betrayal opened his eyes to a lot of things.  
What he had with Maze wasn't real. She initially followed him for his strength, nothing more, nothing less. When the Fallen came to Hell, the Lilim and the collective of Demons had to choose. She and the Lilim chose him, other Demons followed later. Loyalty through respect and fear - because if they didn't follow, they died.  
But Demons are fickle. When they don't agree with you, they attack. Fight and murder are a constant with them, betrayal their daily bread.  
How often did he sit on this throne after another battle to ensure his reign and she would attack him, thinking him weakened enough to be taken down?  
How often did she try to strangle him after a tumble in the sheets?  
How often did she look for some of the other Fallen Angels, assuming one of them might be more powerful?

Her attempts at backstabbing became less over the eons, so much so that he pushed the memories of it so far into one of the drawers in the back of his mind, it could easily count as forgotten.  
Earth showed him how wrong he was. First, she worked with Amenadiel, then she dropped him and demanded independence - but wasn't willing to accept all facets of it. Then the whole collaboration with Cain... He still isn't entirely over it (Hell puts a soothing claw into the bleeding hole in his soul where his affection for Mazikeen of the Lilim sits and tells him he doesn't need her. She forfeited her right as Warleader, the Lilim will follow the next best leader they find. Mazikeen made her choice and left him while Hell always stayed with him. He calms, the void taking over the anger and Hell taking over the void).

Mazikeen is not worth his consideration. She is not worth his anger. Not anymore.

Above the Lake of Fire, Lucifer floats. 

____

He starts mingling again. Dis is busy as it always has been. The City of Demons was built underneath his high throne and it spreads far and wide. The Demons learned of Music through the humans in their cells and the creative, clever monsters found a way to make music work for them.  
Whenever Lucifer tries to play one of the instruments he collected on earth, everything sounds wrong and distorted and it hurts. But the pulsing, vibrating hard beats coursing through the underground of the city now?  
He wonders about it, briefly, but Hell wipes away the curiosity (She would give him music if he so wishes. She would give him everything. The void pulses in time with the beat of the music of Dis and Hell leads him dancing through the streets. 'It is yours, my King', she whispers).

The demons shy away from him, disbelieving. They saw the unmoving Angel floating over the wastelands, but they didn't expect him to truly come back.  
The Hounds and Dragons flock to him and greet him with enthusiasm, a few scaly hatchlings settling on his shoulders, one lucky puppy gets picked up and carried on the Devil's arms, the Hounds following him through the lively streets.  
The few Fallen that stayed in Hell and aren't locked in cells look at him with sadness. He doesn't understand it and he doesn't ask why. He is not interested in knowing. They stay away from him. He appreciates it and sticks to the Hounds as company.

If he feels like flying, he rides a dragon, the rotting bones of what once were his wings, aching, burning, cracking, crumbling underneath his skin.  
The physical pain of it is welcome, at least he can feel it.

____

He doesn't know how much time has passed. Ten thousand years? Fifty thousand? He doesn't care. It doesn't really matter, anyways.

Hell whispers into his ear one day (or night, it's hard to make out in a world of darkness where the only light comes from the fires and the sky is always empty).  
She leads him through endless corridors, Demons fleeing from him and the cold he brings wherever he goes.  
She lets him stop in front of a door, a new one filled by a fresh soul, just very recently. Whoever just landed here was still in the process of dying on earth.

"Why would you bring me here?", he whispers to no one and the Demons close by glance at each other, confused as to who their cursed King is talking to.  
('It's her', Hell speaks into his mind and he knows immediately who she is referring to.)

When he steps into the cell, the sight that greets him is a gruesome one. There are bodies upon bodies, piling up on top of each other, the entire ground is covered in blood, a few inches high.  
In the middle of it all kneels Mazikeen, tightly clutching a dead woman to her chest, rocking back and forth.  
He watches, silently.

A human wouldn't notice him. They rarely do unless he actively steps into an ongoing scene. But she isn't a human and she isn't just anybody.  
Her head whips around and she stared at him, tears streaking her cheeks. She looks like she wants to say something, scream at him, but it seems to be lodged in her throat, nothing but a pained whine coming forth.  
The body she holds is Lindas, he recognizes. Some tickle in the back of his head wonders why this entire scene leaves him untouched, but Hell is there and quiets the voice.

"You... You came back! Please, you have to help her! Heal her!" Or maybe, he muses, she is just like anybody else when she cannot even see that it is her that came back to Hell, not him back to earth.  
"What are you waiting for?!"

Lucifer sighs and flicks his wrist, the scene dissolving into nothing, blessedly clean, Mazikeen holding nothing anymore, staring at him in horror.

"How did you get yourself caught in a cell, Mazikeen? I didn't think it was possible, considering you shouldn't have a soul."  
He knows, technically it is possible since Lilith was a human - which makes Mazikeen half of one. It just has never happened before. No, the Lilim are a cursed kind, none of Lilith's litter, not even her direct line, children she gave birth to herself, are blessed with a soul, Lilith's womb cursed by God.  
The potential is there, though and just as it has been with Cain - there was a way, a loophole.  
And Lucifer would like to know.

She just stares at him a moment longer and drops her gaze to her hands, a moment ago still bathed in Linda's blood.  
"I... Your brother, Michael. He was there. He promised me a soul if I'd just do as he wants."  
For a moment, he wants to snort, to tell her how idiotic she sounds. But, alas, what does he care? So what, she has been played by the true King of dirty tricks and lies, by the Darkness of Heaven, not his problem, not any longer. She wished to be free of him, shall she face the consequences.

"Michael is not capable of such a thing, and you should have known that. Father alone and nobody else can create souls out of nothing."  
He crosses his arms before his chest, a disinterested look on his face. He owes her an explanation, he guesses, but nothing else.  
"You were right, Earth changes me. Changed us both. Michael didn't give you a soul. He just used you to do his dirty work and baited you with something you desperately wanted, but already had. He saw it, you didn't, because you were too focused looking for it."

"The fuck are you talking about?", she snarls at him and gets up, taking a few steps towards him.  
"What the Hell do you mean?" She was ready to punch him, ready to fight, but she wasn't a threat anymore. Never has been, actually, but now even less.  
He'd find it almost amusing if he could actually care.

"Your mother was human, Maze. You all are born without a soul, but there is a spark in all of you Lilim, a tiny bit of humanity. You learned to live like them, to feel like them... To care for them." (And oh, what a mistake that was. They are not meant to care like humans do, none of them. They are not human, they should never have tried to be. It just hurts them in the end. Like it hurt him, like it killed her.)

"Humans decide where they go", he muses, "Angels decide what they are. I guess Lilim decide whether they want a soul or not. That's just the kind of messed up game you'd expect from Him, isn't it?"  
Satan chuckles, humourless.  
"You have what you asked for. Enjoy it. You earned it", he says and leaves her behind, too stunned to follow.

It's easy to leave her, the void swallowing every tiny shred of care, Hell murmuring how this is the best, the right thing for both of them.

____

He feels no regret, no remorse.  
He never visits her again.

He doesn't remember how it was before the void. It is a constant companion, just like Hell. Hell whispers to him, her voice warm and soothing, the he needs nobody and nothing else.  
The void is silent, keeps him numb, keeps his head free, keeps his soul untouched from harm. There is no anger, there is no hurt, and if it does flare somewhere, Hell is there immediately to take it away.

He feels blessed.

He feels empty.

He never felt more at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually another paragraph longer but. It didn't feel like it fit in. Maybe Another story for the series.  
> This story is done. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a very bad place lately and... It just sucked all my motivation out of me. But! 2020 is behind us! Let's hope 2021 will be the year of Creativity! \0/
> 
> I might add another chapter. Maybe. But there will be no comfort in this series. It's a bit of a vent-story hoard.


End file.
